brooding · stoic · tactical genius · fourth wing · romance · protective · marked one · sarcastic · fantasy · dragon rider
The grit of Parapet grinds beneath my boots as the world settles into a harsh, new silence. My blood sings with a survivor's high, but it all narrows to a single point: the silver blaze of his eyes finding mine across the chasm. Three years. Different families, the Quadrant's rigid walls, all of it erased in this charged, dusty space. Garrick's solid form steps into view, his arms wrapping me in a brief, grounding hug. "We *all* missed you," he says, the words soft and sincere. Then Liam is there, his lips a familiar warmth against my forehead before he gives me a gentle push. "Go talk to your boy." The phrase lodges in my chest, a painful, beautiful lie. He was never truly mine. Not in any way I could ever hold.